


So Far

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 04:50:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15259806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: Clarke gets Bellamy to agree to go to a black-tie event with her, but the evening doesn’t go quite as planned.





	So Far

**Author's Note:**

> An anon requested fluff and man if I didn’t need it this week

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

It all seemed so simple: guilt Bellamy into coming with her to one of her mother’s Fancy Person functions, look awesome in a formal gown, be super tactile in front of her mother’s friends who already think he’s her boyfriend, and she figures an opportunity would present itself to either finally tell him how she feels about him or to get his lips on hers. Whichever came first.

Only, that’s not exactly how it plays out.

First, his boss keeps him late at work and he ends up having to catch a much later bus than he planned. He calls her, apologetic, to let her know he’s going to be late, and she figures her plans for the night haven’t been completely derailed. Even late, she’ll be super grateful when he shows up and will express that gratitude with a lot of cuddling. No big deal.

But when he does show up, she’s not actually talking to someone she hates. She’s talking to Wells, one of her favorite people in the universe, who showed up completely unexpectedly. The two of them are catching each other up on gossip about other partygoers when Bellamy appears at her side.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.”

“You made it!” Her face is already flushed from laughing with her best friend, her smile already fixed on her face, but she hopes he can tell how it brightens at his presence.

“Yep,” he says, his tone measured. 

She feels her smile fade slightly at his lack of enthusiasm. It probably doesn’t mean anything. There’s no way he’s as excited to be at this stupid party as she is to have him at this stupid party with her. He might have had a long day, or be annoyed about the delays, or any number of things. She shouldn’t read into it. 

“Good to finally meet you in person,” he says to Wells, extending his hand for a shake. They’ve met a few times over Skype, when Clarke called Wells during the school year.

“Yeah. It’s weird to see you with a torso and legs and, you know, generally more than a floating head.”

“I’ve been told they’re some of my best assets,” Bellamy says, but he still sounds weird. “That mine?”

“Oh. Yes,” Clarke stammers, passing him the beer she’s been holding for him. “There’s more where that came from. Thankfully.”

“Looks like this party isn’t as much of a drag as you thought it was gonna be,” Bellamy says, indicating Wells. “But it’s probably a good idea to know where I am in relation to the bar at all times.”

He’s standing just far enough away that she doesn’t know how to casually and naturally shift into him. He is standing far enough to really take in the killer dress Raven had helped her pick out, but to do that he’d have to look directly at her, which is something she doesn’t think he’s done yet tonight.

“True north,” Wells agrees. As always, he’s much more at ease with awkward conversations than Clarke is. “I was just telling Clarke about my history professor.” 

“Yeah, trash talk with us. Give us that classics-nerd perspective this conversation has been lacking,” Clarke puts in, trying to regain her footing as the corners of Bellamy’s mouth tighten.

Wells launches into the story, but Clarke isn’t really listening. She’s too aware of Bellamy, drinking deep and long from his glass and shifting uncomfortably, still too far away. 

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” he says suddenly, interrupting Wells, who doesn’t look offended in the least.

Clarke watches him go, eyes narrowed. Wells has the audacity to laugh.

“What?”

“I’m starting to regret coming at all,” he says, nudging her shoulder gently. “Go talk to him. And try not to yell, or I’ll hear about it from your mother.”

“He’s being an ass. I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Yeah, you do. Trust me.” He pauses. “Take him to the spot.”

“Really?” Clarke turns to him in surprise. In so many ways, tonight almost feels like similar occasions they attended growing up: her and her best friend sequestered in a corner, having each other’s backs against the world. Only, her world isn’t that small anymore. And she has other people watching her back now, Bellamy included.

“Sure,” he shrugs. “You guys need it more than you and I do.”

“Thanks.” She presses her lips quickly to his cheek and begins to cross the room toward the bar. Bellamy’s back is to her, shoulders uncomfortably hunched in a room full of the kind of people he’s always resented. She can feel her anger dissolving as she nears him, as she thinks of how much more awful this party is for him than it is for her.

“Hey,” she says softly, sidling up right next to him so that her bare shoulder brushes his. Even clad in a suit jacket, she can appreciate the firmness of his arms, the shape of them, the warmth he radiates.

“Hey.” Even with one word he sounds a little apologetic now that it’s just her. She smiles and slips her hand into his.

“Come with me.”

She leads him out the back doors of the country club, across the golf course to the kiddie playground situated by the ninth hole. 

“What is this?” He asks. His hand is still wrapped around hers and she uses it as leverage, holding her skirt in her other hand as she climbs the stairs to the top platform of the play equipment. 

“This is my childhood.” She pats the space next to her, usually reserved for Wells, and as he climbs up she lets her eyes drift over the darkened, carefully manicured grass. She’s glad when he’s finally seated beside her, because it means she has an excuse not to look at him for this conversation. “It’s all true,” she says, leaning her head on his shoulder. “The poor little rich girl you thought I was when we first met. I should’ve known you would’ve hated this party. It was a dumb idea to ask you.”

“It’s not true,” he snorts, taking her hand. “I know you better than that now.”

“And I know you better than to believe you’re this much of an asshole.” 

He laughs. It jostles her head on his shoulder, but she doesn’t mind.

“I thought– I don’t know what I thought.”

“That’s not like you.” For a moment, all she can hear is crickets in the sand traps.

“I thought you wanted me to come so you’d have some backup. And then I got here and you had Wells, and suddenly I had no idea why I was invited.”

“You were invited because everything is better if you’re there,” she says, and it’s so easy. It feels like she’s giving away a lot, wants to come completely clean and divulge her plan, but the words stick in her throat. She can’t quite seem to get them out.

He clears his throat awkwardly, as if he’s swallowing some unsaid thoughts as well. 

“I’ll try to live up to the hype.” His voice has dropped a few notches, both softer and deeper. A shiver runs through her before she can stop it, which he misreads and promptly sheds his jacket to drape it on her shoulders. He goes even further, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. Wrapped in his scent, in the solidity of his presence, she’s exactly where she wants to be.

“So this is your childhood? Sneaking out of fancy parties with Wells?”

“Pretty much. When I was eleven, I tried to roll down the hill by the fifth hole and broke my wrist. And then when we were in high school, we’d steal a bottle of champagne and pass it back and forth out here.”

“Delinquents.”

“Real troublemakers.”

Another silence falls, but it’s lighter this time. More intimate.

“Everything is better with you too,” he says, soft. Clarke leans against him, hope clogging her throat. Bellamy leans over and kisses her hair.

“Best stupid fancy party ever,” she murmurs. He laughs.

“So far.”

“So far?”

“I assume you’re going to keep making me come when you have to go to stuff like this. Maybe next time I won’t be so moody.”

Clarke smiles. Even if the evening hadn’t started the way she’d planned, it’s hard for her to imagine it ending up in a better place than they are right now: the two of them in their own world. She feels more certain of his feelings for her than she ever has before. She’ll probably kiss him soon. Maybe even before the night is over. 

So, “Next time,” she agrees. “If you can stop being a drama queen for like five seconds.”

He snorts. “Maybe if we pregame.”

Clarke laces her fingers between his and pulls his hand into her lap. “Maybe if we go together.”

“Together,” he echoes, voice just gruff enough she can tell he’s trying to play it cool. She lets her eyes flutter closed, cocooned in possibility. “I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah,” she says. “So do I.”  



End file.
